


the universal constant starts with you and me

by CaineGreyson



Category: Black Mirror, Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Poor Tea-Making Skills, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaineGreyson/pseuds/CaineGreyson
Summary: mohan thakur is getting very suspicious.





	the universal constant starts with you and me

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your lovely support on my other Stefan/Colin fics! It means so much to hear your feedback, especially as I'm currently working on a couple of personal writing projects (hello, novels) and I'm finding your comments and kudos so motivational.

Colin drummed his finger against his lower lip. He was deep in thought. He had been deep in thought for several hours now, and Mohan Thakur was beginning to get tired of it.

Thakur was tired of a lot of things, and Colin seemed to be right in the middle of all of them. He was sick of people talking back to him (although Colin was the only one who bothered); he was sick of people smoking weed in the office, risking getting the company in trouble (but Colin was the only one who dared to prop his legs up on the desk and light up a joint—he did it every morning at eleven o’clock on the dot); he was really, stomach-twistingly, gut-wrenchingly bored to _tears_ of people being late.

Colin was always, _always_ late.

Mohan wanted to scream. He wanted to buy the man an alarm clock. He wanted to smash his stupid blond head in like a Terry’s Chocolate Orange. The thing that hurt most was that none of that was at all possible—Colin was too talented, too important, too well-loved. And every time Mohan tried to teach him a lesson, Colin smiled at him, his body wire-tight, practically shivering with energy, and said nothing.

“Are you finished?” he’d ask. Mohan would feel his eyes almost pop out of his head with rage. He’d dream of shutting Tuckersoft’s doors forever for days afterwards, and Colin would go home to his wife and child, probably prop his stupid, long legs up on the coffee table, light up another joint, and play his own stupid, brilliantly-successful games.

Mohan Thakur really, really hated him.

~~~

 

Stefan leaned over the back of Colin’s rolling chair, peering at the screen with childish excitement. “So, hang on, how’d you get the graphics so smooth? They’re like telly, Colin!”

“Not so hard this time,” Colin said. He blew smoke into Stefan’s face. The lad didn’t seem to care. “I’ve had some practice since Nohzdyve.”

“Nohzdyve’s only been out a week—how’d you get this much finished already?”

“Took a deep dive, Stefan,” said Colin. He took another drag of his (thankfully tobacco only) cigarette. “Got myself into the hole, didn’t I?”

Mohan blinked. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about. That wasn’t unusual with Colin, he supposed, but Stefan seemed to have it all figured out. He watched as the younger boy, still gaunt and tired-looking after his struggle with the Bandersnatch release, nodded wisely and continued gazing at the screen.

And then he did something very strange.

Stefan’s hand landed on Colin’s shoulder. He kneaded it gently, frowning slightly, all his attention on the new game. “Need to work on ideas,” he said, mostly to himself and low enough that Mohan could hardly hear it. “I have a few, but not enough, I don’t think.”

“Anything’s enough,” Colin said. He looked around. He caught Mohan’s eye. “You should go and think over what you’ve got. A walk might do the trick.”

Stefan saw Mohan. He swallowed hard. His hand twitched away from Colin’s shoulder. “Good idea,” he said, and tore his gaze from Mohan’s. He walked away.

Something was going on, and Mohan Thakur wasn’t going to rest until he got to the bottom of it. He rubbed his chin in thought. He had a lot of investigating to do.

~~~

 

Stefan’s new game idea had budded seemingly overnight, and the code deadline was set for the end of April. He had three months. Mohan thought that was pretty generous—he’d wanted to ask Butler to have the game done and handed over by the end of February, but Colin had talked him out of it.

“If you give him until April, I’ll help him with it when I’m finished with my own,” he’d said, pushing his stupid glasses further up his untouchable nose. “We’ll work on it together. Think of how that’ll sell.”

“And he’ll let you?” Mohan had asked dubiously, wondering if Colin had forgotten how mental Stefan went during Bandersnatch.

“He’ll let me,” Colin had said with a knowing smile. That was off-putting. That required more thought. Mohan had decided, shortly afterwards, that he didn’t have the mental energy required to analyse the facial expressions nor the body language of Colin Ritman. The man was simply unknowable, and there was no point even trying.

But then Stefan hadn’t shown up for work this morning and Colin disappeared for a fag break that had never ended, and Mohan had had no choice but to go and find them both one at a time. He’d tried Colin’s place first, but to no avail. Kitty had shrugged and said, “When you find him, tell him I said hello!” Then she’d closed the door in his face. Mohan wondered if she and Colin were having marital problems, and made a mental note never to bring her up again.

“Stefan!” he shouted, banging at the door again. “Hey, Butler, open the bloody door! It’s freezing!”

He heard a thud, and then a sort of yelp. Feet pounded down a set of stairs. Mohan shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. It began to rain, and he wished he’d worn a coat. When Stefan pulled open the door, apologies pouring out his mouth like shit out of a cow’s arse, Mohan just elbowed past him.

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been ringing you all morning! I thought you were going to be reliable this time, Stefan, for—”

Mohan stopped talking. His mouth snapped closed. He took in the sight before him, and he felt himself grow weak.

Colin Ritman stood at the top of the stairs. One hand rested lazily on the bannister; the other hung loosely at his side, his fingertips grazing the bottoms of his boxers. The boxers were, in fact the only piece of clothing on his body. He gazed coolly down on Mohan, his idiotic blond hair standing in all directions—it was due a trim, Mohan thought weakly—and his glasses askew.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” said Mohan, barely able to speak. Stefan’s eyes moved between them like he was watching some sort of silent tennis match.

“Nice of you to call over,” said Colin, and started moving downstairs. Mohan’s brain went into overdrive. Colin Ritman was standing, in all his almost-naked glory, on Stefan Butler’s stairs. He wrinkled his nose. It smelled like weed and—something else, something musky and strange. Sweat, maybe? No—that was there too, but—

He steered his mind carefully onto another track. He thought about hitting Colin Ritman right in the teeth. He felt very peaceful when he imagined it. He wondered if that was how monks felt when they meditated or did yoga or whatever it was they did.

“Tucker,” said Colin, “Want a cuppa? I’m putting the kettle on.”

“No, no,” he said. He looked at Stefan, who looked back at him with his soft puppy eyes. “I think I’ll—look, I’ll just head on, yeah? I’ll pretend I never saw anything.”

“Lovely.” Colin smiled. He finally reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed to Stefan. Colin’s arm wrapped around his bony shoulders and squeezed. Mohan watched a blush spread all the way down Butler’s neck.

“You know, I think I left… I think I left the immersion on,” he said, and reached behind him for the door handle. “Carry on. As you were.” He smiled bravely, but Colin Ritman couldn’t even let him have that.

“Oh, we won’t do that,” he said, and a slow, shark-like smirk spread across his face. “Wouldn’t want to scar you for life.”

Mohan had never been happier to be out in the rain in his life. At least nobody could question why he looked so very depressed when he was drenched to the skin without a raincoat.

~~~

 

The kettle whistled. Colin took two mugs out of the cupboard. He put a teabag in each, added a drop of milk to the bottom of one (Stefan made his tea wrong, but Colin was willing for forgive that), and poured the hot water on top.

“Aren’t you worried?” Stefan asked. He was still wringing his beautiful hands by the door. Colin felt dizzy with joy.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ and disposed of the teabags. “Not even slightly.”

Stefan crossed the room to him. Colin stretched out a hand behind him as he stirred the milk into his own mug. Stefan’s fingers were cool and soft. He squeezed gently, hoping to be reassuring.

“Mr. Thakur—”

“Will pretend he saw nothing. He’s too lazy to think about anything more complicated than money matters.”

“Isn’t that… complicated?” Stefan asked.

Colin only snorted in response. He offered the terrible, milky tea to Stefan and led him towards the couch, sprawling across it. Tea sloshed over the rim of the mug, but he didn’t care. He patted the cushion between his open legs and smiled, watching Stefan’s eyes soften.  
“Come sit with me,” said Colin, and when Stefan complied, he buried his face in his soft, brown curls. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Stefan murmured. He sipped his tea. “Needs more milk, though.”

“I take it back. I can’t love you anymore.”

“Oh, alright.” Stefan grinned. He leaned back against Colin’s chest, his eyes fanning shut. “Still love you, though.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Colin Ritman, tell me you love me.”

“Love you.”

“Good boy.”

Colin chuckled and kissed the top of Stefan’s perfect head. “At least I’ve figured out the universal constant,” he whispered. “You always make a poor cup of tea.”

 


End file.
